Lesser Heroes
by PerfectPerception
Summary: JONAS. This is how you destroy a fairy tale. JoeMacy, AU
1. Chapter One

**I own nothing.**

**Entire story inspired by Copeland****'****s acoustic version of their eminent song, _No One Really Wins_.  
**

* * *

**Prologue.**

"_You_."

It was a single-worded accusation, but just as powerful and profound as any court case could offer.

Joe languidly lifted his gaze just steadily enough to witness firsthand as his brother's fist collided into his jaw. He heard a twisted cracking sound and his head jerked backward as his neck arched in an awkward degree.

He was caught by the collar of his white oxford shirt lying beneath his gray sweater vest; his head spinning at the remarkable strength his younger sibling possessed. He inhaled sharply, throbs of pain flooding to every extremity of his face, and his brain seemed to be pounding violently against his thick skull.

"Nick," he breathed.

Nick narrowed his eyes into angry, fuming slits and the look of tears had threatened the stature of his infuriated form. "_Why_?" he hissed. "_Why did you_ _ruin_ _everything_?"

Honest to god, Joe really didn't know. He really, really didn't.

With his family's relationship back on track, his perfect best friend falling absolutely in love with him, and his depression kept on the farthest end of his heart's bay, he had everything, _everything_, going for him.

And then he purposely wrecked it; destroyed every last piece of his effort.

"Nick." again, was all he could say.

"I really loved her, you know," Nick cried in frustration. "And Jesus Christ, Joe, do you know how old she is? How old _you_ are? Do you know what she's done for me? What she hasn't done, and never will do, for you? I will _never_ forgive you for this. _Never_."

"Do you hate me, Nick?"

The younger of the two paused, his chest heaving. His face deadpanned.

"Yes."

Joe thought that this was the severe consequence to what he had done. He didn't doubt it. And he could feel the pieces of his world he finally managed to fix, fall apart. All on his accord; his fault. But this was just the aftermath of his mistake…

These following events were the beginning of it:

* * *

--

* * *

**Chapter One.**

It was cloudy when Joe Lucas returned home.

It probably wasn't going to rain, considering the sweltering ball of humid heat hanging high among the clouds, but maybe it was going to thunder later on. He never liked thunder; sometimes shuddered at the unmerciful sound of it, and he wasn't particularly fond of the lightening that generally accompanied it too.

He suddenly felt a small, precise tug from soft fingers that gently wrapped themselves around his thick wrist and his brooding thoughts had immediately tolled wistfully off into the distance. He turned to see a girl in the form of bright yellow hair, red high-heels, and a floral sundress.

Stella Malone smiled coyly at him, her eyes beaming. "Your hair's a mess."

He rolled his eyes, fingering the loose strings from the hem of his flannel shirt in slight irritation. "The usual result from spending an extended amount of time with you. After the first hour, I begin to pull my hair out."

Her smile had vanished and her eyes narrowed, an additional dramatized pout following in toll. A smirk claimed Joe's face and he squinted in satisfaction, sliding his wrist out of her grasp and instead intertwined their hands together, fingers threaded. Despite the agitation in her face, he could feel her voluntarily squeeze his hand in return.

This was their messy comfort.

Joe's family had lived down the street from Stella's and the two, inclined to the many predicted odds placed between them, had grown to become relatively close friends. It wasn't, however, until they reached their first year in college -- this year being their third -- with their dorms only separated by the invisible but defined divided line between the boy's section and the mirroring girl's one, had they learned they were completely dependent on one another.

It was a terrifying concept, that you weren't entirely whole without another existing, living, breathing soul in your life, but it was all Joe and Stella knew.

"Scared?" she asked next. He stared at the ground, long and hard, and eventually shook his head.

"To see the family? Nah."

"No, I mean--"

"I'm not afraid of that either." _Just broken, is all_.

The blonde girl, petite and so pretty, strayed her eyes away. The air suddenly felt heavier than before and it was hard to swallow.

A lump sat at the base of her throat but she still spoke softly, "you're a real good liar; you know that, Joe?"

"And you're a real good believer, Stell."

* * *

Joe was thirteen when he realized that maybe girls weren't so whiny and obnoxious. Instead, they were sort of sweet smelling and had some relatively interesting things to say.

It was at the age of fifteen when he decided to give one of them a go. It had been extraordinary -- that silly misconception of what being in love was like -- and they, Joe Lucas and Hailey Centennial, lasted about five months before he thought his heart was completely, utterly shattered when she left him for the school's golden boy, Jessie June.

During his nineteen years and three months of life, while he was away in the far-off fantasy land known as college, had he finally recognized the true definition of heartbreak. He still hadn't experienced love in the way his divorced parents claimed they once held (but, unfortunately, misplaced sometime long ago between their multiple arguments), however, he knew the pain he felt for Hailey leaving him was nothing compared to the death of his older brother, Kevin.

He almost didn't go back to school after that.

And he was pelted and pressed with the ugly misguided support of the idea that '_God had a plan with Kevin. God had much better things for him to do. God this. God that. God. God. God._'

Joe really didn't give a damn, though. Because he had Kevin _first_. Kevin was with their family first. And, in Joe's eyes, God was only greedy if He took Kevin's life through a robbery and a bullet.

* * *

Stella flicked his ear when he had spaced out. "Hel_-lo_, did you just hear what your dad said?"

Joe blinked. Then he thought and all he could remember was vague image of his aged father, weathered down from work and his eldest son's death, speaking briefly to Stella, welcoming Joe home, and quickly disappearing back into his home office where the lingering loss of Kevin couldn't seem to seep into.

She took his silence as a resounding _no_. "Nick's up in his room, you dummy. Try to say hi to him while I visit my family."

"Meet you later tonight?" he asked, rotating his wrists before picking up his duffle bag weighed with clothes for his summer stay.

"Maybe. I might have the usual family dinner though. I'll call you later, or just show up."

"Sounds good--"

Joe might have added something else, like for Stella to text him or that he'll come by her house instead, but his bulging suitcase had dropped to the floor when a rush of force pushed past him. He then tripped unceremoniously over his bag and Stella squealed in surprise, leaning over his fallen body as he stared up in a daze.

Another head knocked clumsily against Stella's and the blonde sharply withdrew hers, standing stick-straight with her hands cradling her head. They stared at the trouble-making stranger who was nothing but a tiny girl, inches shorter than the blonde, with gleaming eyes bouncing nervously back and forth from Joe to Stella.

"Oh my!" she gasped in alarm, appearing mortified at the evident damage and chaos she had created within seconds. "I'm so sorry! I always slide down the stairs and I didn't know anyone was here -- I… _oh no_, you two must hate me!"

She pulled Joe to his feet without his consent and stared apologetically at Stella. "Nick didn't say a word he was having anyone besides me over! I would've been more careful and --"

"Nick didn't say anything?" repeated Joe's blonde friend.

He shrugged, noting, "he still hates me."

"He's your _brother_, Joe. Hate doesn't give him a reason to act like you're not apart of the family!"

"My name's Joe, by the way," he said coolly, looking at the babbling brunette girl. He thumbed to his left casually, his eyes drifting off to his house's staircase this mysterious girl had slid down from. "And that's my friend, Stella Malone."

"Macy," she spluttered out hesitantly in response. "M-Macy Misa. I'm, um, Nick's best friend."

* * *

**To clear up any further confusion:  
Joe and Nick's family situation will be explained later. The gap** (not actual _ages_)** between the brother's ages are the same as they are in real life; Macy is Nick's age, which is seventeen, and Stella's is Joe's -- the promising age of twenty. There will be other couples before the eventual Joe/Macy one, but of course, you could probably already tell with Joe and Stella****'s questionable ****'****friendship****'****.**** And finally, the introduction of this story starts from the middle, then makes a recap of the beginning. Its definitely a different style of writing a plot, but I figured I'd try it -- seeing as my AP English class is only exercising**** my analytical and research abilities rather than my creative one. -_-****  
**

**Anyway, reviews would be absolutely amazing :)  
**


	2. Chapter Two

**I own nothing.**

**Entire story inspired by Copeland****'****s acoustic version of their eminent song, _No One Really Wins_.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Two.**

Macy Misa had panned out to be a decently interesting girl, and, on top of that, she was fairly cute. But Joe was above her in nearly every aspect, so he really didn't care. He had been here for a week, and she came by the house on a daily basis; almost like she made a routine of caring for his secluded brother.

She'd knock politely at the door until Joe, Stella, or his father had answered, pranced whimsically up the stairs and into Nick's room, made the youngest brother lunch (pasta with butter was his favorite), listened attentively to the old records Kevin left behind with him set on repeat, cleaned the kitchen counters or organized the magazine rack downstairs if Nick was sleeping, and clumsily made her way out of the house in high spirits at sundown only to return the next day.

She may have been a saint in another world, but in this one, she was just a strange; incomprehensible young girl.

Joe didn't know what to exactly make of her.

They didn't cross paths much, but when they did he'd notice the way her hair fell over her shoulders, or how short she was; the small curve and outline of her chest pressed against her numerous college sweatshirts, and the look of knowing in her eyes whenever she glanced at him. He wondered what Nick told her, how he spoke of Joe himself, and if he told Macy what had really happened to Kevin.

Joe figured, though, he'd never receive any of those answers.

And he wasn't sure if he truly wanted to know anyway.

"I'm sorry for the other week," she spoke suddenly, beaming perkily at him with her hand resting on the handle of a pot filled with water. She placed it on the kitchen's gray, gas-powered stove, and set the flame ablaze.

It was in the middle the day on a Tuesday afternoon, exactly one week and a day from his and Stella's arrival along with Macy's rather explosive; albeit painful introduction. It was too hot out to do anything, or do anything with productively at least, and Stella was off seeing her grandparents for the day, promising to return to him in the evening or tomorrow morning. He was sitting at his kitchen's island, scanning an old Maxim magazine he found lying underneath his old bed's mattress when Macy traipsed into the open room and began to rummage through the cabinets in intent to cook Nick food.

It irritated Joe, to say the least. It just aggravated him to no ends that this girl -- who could be spending her summer tanning, shopping, going to movies or whatever the hell girls at her age did -- was wasting her time on Nick, rather than having a _real_ vacation like she deserved.

She peered at him curiously, studying his furrowed eyebrows and concentrated eyes, and waited for a response to lessen the awkward tension held between the two.

"Don't be sorry," he answered shortly and she smiled pleasantly at him. He shifted in his chair, squinting at the pages before closing the magazine dulled from its age. "It's Nick's fault he didn't tell you."

He began to chew gingerly on the inside of his cheek, silently playing over careful words in hopes of getting a rise out of Macy. He watched her in a vigilant manner, observing her unmarred face fall in confusion at the drop of his statement.

"The subject of you coming home never came up is all," she lied. "Nick does talk about you, though. He says you're starting your third year of college in the fall, aren't you?"

Joe shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah." He paused, shifting the subject, "so you and Nick are best friends?"

"I guess… well, yeah, we are," she blushed. "I know you haven't heard of me before, but I just moved here from Chicago. Nick was the first person I talked to in school and then that… that _thing_ happened, and, well, yeah."

In theory, Macy was the complete opposite of Nick.

Deemed as a collective and severely calm individual, not in a million of years would Nick become 'best friends' with an eccentric, stuttering and stumbling girl like Macy Misa. And, admittedly, Joe was relatively curious to why his younger brother had become so dependent on the antonym of himself.

She nervously checked her pot of heating water.

"I'm sure you know our stove's always been on the fritz," he commented, stretching lazily in his seat. "It takes, like, eighteen minutes to boil one pot of water."

Macy turned to him, flustered and averting his gaze. "You don't have to talk to me, you know."

"Well, you spoke to me first so I figured it'd be polite to respond." He rolled the crinkled raunchy magazine in his hands; boldly looking at her. "And you don't have to pretend like you don't know me, too. I'm sure Nick's told you every single thing about me. Or his reasons for hating me, at least."

"Nick hasn't anything bad about you," insisted the young girl.

Joe felt like she resembled a lamb a tiny bit. And he was the big bad wolf; unintentionally of course.

"Really? Then what _has_ he said?"

"Not much at all, really," she answered truthfully.

"Ah, well, Nick's not much of the articulate type anyway."

She swallowed loudly, jumping at the abrupt ring from Joe's cell phone resting on the marble counter. He stared at it lamely, figuring by the second ring he should answer it, and Macy's eyes darted back to the iron gray stove when he hit the green 'call' button of his phone to answer.

"Mmhmm?"

"Lunch got cut short with my grandparents," informed Stella Malone. In the background he could hear muffled noises of honking horns and the faint sound of engines whispering against the wind. She was driving somewhere; maybe to her parent's house, maybe to his. "Wanna do something?"

"Sex," he responded and Macy stiffened.

Stella's pretty laugh rang through his ears. "You always want that. Anything else I can service you with?"

"I guess we could just hang out and get me out of this house," he suggested earnestly and he could imagine the blonde biting her lip in thought of what to do in order to entertain the pair. "And no, Stell, I don't have any particular thing in mind. Surprise me, will you?"

"I'll come by in five."

Joe wittily agreed with a dry remark in hand and hung up; immediately noticing Macy's disappearance. The water had yet to begin to even steam and the glossy front page of his Maxim issue, with some nameless yet attractive celebrity girl posed in a borderline trashy position, was slightly curled from his earlier attempt to roll it up and rested on the edge of the island's counter.

She wasn't coming back, he concluded. At least, not with him around.

He fixed his hair and pulled together some suitable clothes; eventually deciding that he'd wait for his blonde best friend on the curb of his driveway instead of in his kitchen.

Might as well make it easier for Macy, you know.

* * *

Generally, Stella was always late.

And it wasn't in five minutes that she picked him up, but fifteen. It was okay, though. Joe was accustomed to her half-promises and statements. She'd say all these things in good intention; of course, she'd never follow completely through with them and apologize profusely and sincerely afterward. But that was Stella for you. And that was all Joe could ask for.

They sat in the open bed of her 2008 silver Chevy truck, matted with solid dust and raw memories of their wistful teenage years. It was dusk and the black atmosphere hurriedly spilled over their heads and they had decided earlier on that they'd spend their evening at the neighborhood's local park on the town's highest hilltop, parking Stella's truck in its deserted parking lot.

She came prepared -- blankets, cigarettes, her dad's alcohol and all too.

It culminated to be a pretty good evening so far.

"It's always weird coming back here, don't you think?" She toyed with the cigarette in between her fingers, ultimately refusing it and placed it back into its carton. She appeared slightly proud of herself. "Like, nothing's changed except you."

"Nick sure hasn't changed," Joe replied, thumbing the rim of his Keystone can.

"Well, he's only seventeen, Joe," reminded the blonde.

"I don't get that girl either." He stared long and hard at the fading horizon, tracing the town's artificial light's limitations straining against the sky with his eyes. "The one who's always around the house; taking care of him. I can't read her."

"She's only seventeen too," Stella said. "She's just trying to help Nick out. He isn't coping with Kevin's death healthily. And… sometimes, I'm not sure if your dad is either."

"What I don't get," he murmured, "is why she's even putting up with him. Or how she puts up with him. You think she already hates me -- just by whatever horrible things Nick's ever said about me and what terrible things I've done?"

He felt the small curve of Stella's chin resting gently on the crook of his shoulder, her soft golden hair tickling his cheek. He pressed closer to her and inhaled her airy vanilla scent.

"Joe, stop," she commanded quietly; nearly pleaded. "You're not this vindictive, awful person you make yourself out to be and you _know_ it. Sure, Nick's angry at you, but he's _only_ a teenager; he's usually angry. But right now he's hurt, and your dad doesn't know how to cope with Kevin's death and your mom and Frankie's somewhere back East, so that's why he clings to Macy. She's a sweet girl, and I think it's wonderful that he's found someone to console in."

"You think she's like you," he smiled in a corrupt manner and he could feel a tiny tremor vibrate up his side as she giggled. "Trying to fix that broken, good-looking Lucas boy."

"Neither of you are broken," she whispered. "just badly bruised, for a good reason too."

Joe peered upward, the universe glaring back down at him.

"Remember our senior prom night when they had that huge bonfire over here?"

Even under the moonlight's dim glow, he could still make out the laughter filling Stella's eyes beneath the shadows covering her face. He took a sip of his second beer, and she glanced at him with a smile on her face.

"Of course -- how could I forget? You took that nasty, mean girl. What was her name? Marrissa Maye? And, oh gosh, her _dress_. It was such an ugly orange color! I told you orange isn't your color -- I even told her that!"

He allowed a chuckle to escape his lips and she leaned on him. "Always looking out for me, huh, Stell?"

"Things sure have changed," she mused lightly, and notably a little sleepy, too. She took the can from his grasp and took a large gulp from it, laughing to herself. "I hated you for a week after that. Nick tried to convince me to talk to you, told me you were real torn up about it; that you didn't think asking Marrissa to prom was that bad."

She was starting to sound bitter.

He patted her cheek and she kissed his. "Joe, you know I'll always love you."

He did know. He always knew. From the moment he met Stella Malone.

Sometimes, he thought he might be in love with her too just because, you know, he thought he _ought_ to be. Because everyone just assumed they'd end up together, happily ever after. But he wasn't sure if he was, if he'd ever been, or if he'd ever be truly in love with Stella.

Sure they had kissed in college before, even had sex. It was the college thing to do, wasn't it?

To experiment, run a trial and error. And his dorm was only a hallway down from hers. They had practically the same classes, and they studied together, hung out with the same well-dressed, good-looking, outgoing friends; partied with one another, clung to each other in comfort or in stress, and when they finally kissed in the middle of a kickback a little too noisy and crowded to be considered one, he figured it was the kind of thing he _should_ do. It felt nice, but it didn't necessarily feel amazing. It just felt… well, sort of what he expected it to be.

He turned to her and he felt her soft familiar lips on his.

When she pulled away she had this sweet, pixie-like curve to her mouth -- a sincere grin, and he looked at her through half-lidded eyes. "You do know that, don't you?"

"Yeah," he swallowed, "yeah. I do."

She didn't need any more reassurance before leaning in to kiss him again.

* * *

**Alright guys, so I decided to get another job on top of my honors and AP classes so, yeah, this definitely reduces my life basically to: searching for scholarships, school, work, sleep & if I****'m lucky of any sorts, maybe a party here and there****. Whoever told you senior year is the easiest year you****'ve been gravely mistaken, haha.**** So my updates will probably be super scarce, however, I****'m not giving up on this story; I just have prior engagements that regard more to my future.**** Sorry :/**  
**On story-related news: I****'m s****uper overwhelmed and thankful for the feedback guys, really, I appreciate it a lot :) Also, I responded back to all my reviewers and I wondered if you guys would rather me not reply in general and just answer those who have questions? And, lastly, I think I may change the rating of this story but we'll see.  
Reviews always mean love, too. Thanks!  
**


	3. Chapter Three

**I own nothing.**

**Entire story inspired by Copeland****'****s acoustic version of their eminent song, _No One Really Wins_.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Three.**

Contrary to belief, Joe was doing just fine -- even after the injustice of watching his brother's chest being ripped apart by a bullet and dying without saying so much of a goodbye.

He had, however, lost faith in what his parents had told him. But at least he could offer some realism to the unholy, unbound optimism Stella infinitely harbored for him, or to the onset state of depression the rest of his ruined family had submerged themselves into. And _at least_ he dealt with the death, rather than push the perpetual loss toward the loneliest of corners in back of his mind.

Everyone else just seemed to do the opposite.

This led him to wonder when his family would finally wake in the dawn of realization. To the unsettling, pure fact that Kevin Lucas had died too young and too unfairly for them to thank God for 'taking him to heaven with bigger ideas for him in mind'.

Joe may have been harsh, but he was _right_.

And, contrary to belief, he was doing just fine -- living in this ruthless reality of his.

* * *

"I'm here for at least another two months and three weeks," he informed the shadow of Nick which lingered near the living room of the house when Joe arrived home later that night, still wearing Stella's sweet smell that had tangled itself in the knots of his hair and the crevices of his skin.

Nick's back was still turned to Joe, however, the younger of the two had come to an abrupt halt. He stood in a rigid stance and his clothes hung off him in awkward manner, like they once had fit properly but now only clung to what was left of him.

"Your point?"

"Just sending you a friendly reminder that I'm not dead like Kevin, nor will I die anytime soon, so you can't forget me like you did with him. No matter how much you want to. At least, you won't be able to as easily."

Nick lacked a biting response, and so Joe pressed on.

"And since when did you become so dependent on a girl like Macy? Don't be selfish Nick, because I know you're not. Don't let her waste her summer on you when she could be doing other things, like hanging out with her friends, going to parties --"

"Except she wouldn't be doing any of those things even if she didn't know me," growled the younger Lucas brother, reeling sharply around. "And _don't _bring her up when you don't know a thing about her!"

"You're right," Joe muttered darkly, "I don't know a thing about her, but what I _do_ know is that you're sucking her into this depression crap you've been building yourself up on for the past year. Life sure as hell doesn't become any easier, Nick, but that doesn't give you the right to make someone else's just as horrible as yours."

Nick paused momentarily and glared at his brother, falling stiffly on the living room's unused armchair with his arms crossed and his body fixed. "What time is it, Joe? Eleven-twenty? Where have you been? Out with Stella, of course. But doing _what_, exactly?"

The elder looked mildly flustered, admittedly unsure on how to respond to the sudden shift of subject.

"Going off to college, getting drunk and stoned and sleeping with your best friend isn't a healthy way to cope either, Joe," continued Nick, not missing a beat. "I always thought Stell was too smart for you; probably still is, but somehow you managed to get her. Gonna break her heart like every other girl, Joe?"

Joe blinked, flicking a piece of hair away from his eyes. "How'd you know about me and Stella?"

"I could always tell it was going to happen like everyone else, I just noticed when it actually _did_."

"We're not together, it's… We won't be, ever."

"Does Stella know that?"

"Yeah," he said, although he wasn't too convinced himself. He licked his lips and the low rumble of the air conditioner held the silence. "She does."

Shadows danced across the pale grays of the walls and pictures and other hanging objects blurred with the dark. But all Joe could see through the darkening room was Nick. Nick and his stone-cold face. Nick and his frozen body. Nick and his calculating, condemning eyes.

"Then try not to break her heart. She's the only thing you've got left."

"Nick, I really need to go home," rang a pitched voice and the two brothers, startled by the feminine sound piercing through the blackness of the room, immediately looked to the staircase.

Macy had flopped promptly down the last of the stairs, wearing a thin tank top and running shorts with her hair pulled in a messy ponytail. Her eyes widened when they fell upon Joe and he could see pink adorn the apples of her cheeks, her full glossed-over lips forming an 'o' out of surprise and humiliation.

He noticed she wasn't wearing her hoodie from earlier and her clothes were wrinkled and crumpled. Suddenly, he had the itching need to deem Nick as possibly the biggest hypocrite he knew.

He felt oddly ill at the thought too; blaming the stirring sickness at the realization that Nick wasn't so small and naive anymore and that Macy wasn't the pure personification of innocence like he initially perceived. He wiped his nose with his sleeve and Nick blinked slowly.

"I'll get my dad's keys--"

"No you won't," decided Joe and Nick stood, eyes flashing. He grinned. "It's way past your curfew, kiddo."

"It's summer. I have no curfew."

"Certainly dad set a curfew for girls staying over."

"You were out with Stella the entire night."

"But I'm twenty." He leaned forward on the balls of his feet with triumph dancing mockingly across his face. "And you wouldn't want dad to discuss the importance of safe sex with you, now would you?"

Nick struggled in his place, his muscles stiffening in balled up frustration. "So what're you going to do now? Take Macy home? You don't even know where she lives!"

"Good thing she does," Joe replied, tapping his head before glancing at her. "Hope you give good directions."

"Joe, _no_--"

"It's fine, Nick, honestly." Macy smiled bravely, but by the way she crossed her arms awkwardly and stiffly across her chest he knew she felt otherwise. Regardless, Joe just nodded in response. She bounced from one foot to the other, anxious. "So, um, should we go now?"

"Sure," he breathed, snatching his father's keys lying unceremoniously on the room's tiny yellow coffee table.

He twirled the silver keys around his finger, his eyes never leaving Nick's as if testing the younger of the two by figuratively stepping foot on territory that wasn't his.

"Ready?" he asked.

The petite brunette nodded vigorously and followed him toward the house's unlocked entrance.

Nick didn't move.

The door closed behind Joe and he opened his father's car door afterward. Macy agilely took a seat on the passenger side, strapping on her seatbelt and politely waited for him to turn the engine on before instructing softly, "take a left on Jonas Street onto Champions Avenue. I live kinda far away, so I'll give you the directions as they come -- if you don't mind, that is."

He appeared disinterested. "No, it's fine."

She kept her distance during the drive, preferring to sit on the edge of her seat near the window opposed to the armrest between them while she gave him directions. The quiet hum of the engine stirred the still air about, and when his eyes strayed upwards, Joe couldn't count the boundless amount of stars nestled in the dark blanket of the sky. He felt groggy from earlier; the alcohol numbed his stress and Stella's whiskey kisses sent permanent chills up and down his spine. He noticed his nerves were beginning to tingle and he gripped the steering wheel tighter.

Macy took a glance at him. "We…" she hesitated, faintly clearing her voice before she attempted to speak to him again, more loudly, "we weren't doing… what you thought we were."

"I know," he deadpanned and she looked on with surprise. "Truthfully, that's what I first thought when you came downstairs. Then I figured if you two had, you'd probably being doing the walk of shame, and, trust me, I _know_ what the walk of shame looks like, and you weren't about to do it."

She leaned stiffly into her seat, her face masked. "Oh." She bit her lip. "It wasn't like we got carried away or anything today and I tossed it somewhere--" he assumed _it_ referred to a her hoodie, "--and I, um, wasn't supposed to stay this late anyway. I… spilt some food on the hoodie after you left, and took it off, and it's in your washing machine now drying so I…"

"Yeah, I get it. But listen, Macy, I know I sorta seem like this huge jackass to Nick and all, but I'm not. Not really." He went on, squinting at the hovering darkness. "He's just become this completely different person ever since Kevin passed away. I know I don't know you, and you definitely don't know me, but believe me, the way I treat Nick is on purpose."

"Do you want to break him?" she questioned quietly and he watched her from the corner of his eye. "You think by pushing his limits, he'll be any better than he was before?"

She appeared slightly miffed at his intentions and he raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

She inhaled sharply. "He really hasn't said anything about you. Just the basics: you're twenty, going to college; that you used to be the funniest person he's ever known, and you witnessed your brother's death."

"Used to?" he repeated and she swallowed, hard.

"You think your family's the only ones that have changed," she prodded cautiously, keeping a steady but flawed smile on her face. She held it there like it was going to lessen the sharpness of her words. "But Nick thinks you have too. He thinks you're this cynical, bitter person he doesn't know anymore; that you've lost or let go of all the things you used to believe in."

"You sound like Stella," he chuckled harshly. She flinched slightly.

"And Stella. He says that he thinks she could be in love with you, and that you're doing nothing about it." Macy's eyes suddenly fell from the side of his face to her hands folded over one another resting on her lap. "She's so… _beautiful_. I… I don't see why you wouldn't be in love with her too."

He couldn't breathe and his head felt dizzy and light.

Didn't he always have these stupid little conversations with himself about Stella? On why he should be in love with her, but wasn't?--wouldn't ever be?

"I'm s-sorry," apologized the young girl sitting beside him. "I… I don't know what I'm saying. That was--that was _way_ rude of me. My mom would kill me for saying something like that to a complete stranger or anyone, in fact. I guess I just don't understand why anyone wouldn't like her is all."

"It's a matter of the heart, I guess," he answered thoughtfully and she looked startled that he had responded to her pensive wondering. "You don't choose who you fall in love with, or even when you do -- it just _happens_."

"Did you stop believing in love?"

Joe shook his head. "Not love, just God."

She frowned at that; strangely pressing in a polite, contradicting way, "but Nick says you used to be so religious. I know that… that death isn't fair and all but…"

"He's supposed to be this completely selfless, forgiving being," he insisted nonchalantly, "so why would He be greedy enough to take someone back? Like it was a mistake on His part for putting a person on earth, and takes them back without so much of a warning."

Macy sighed, forlorn. "Sometimes, I-I think we forget the value of a single person's life. We need to be reminded of it, even if it seems like it's through a cruel, hurtful way."

Joe couldn't take anymore glances of her, his eyes set straight on the road. She abruptly spoke out, saying that this upcoming house was hers, and he slowed the vehicle into a stall; letting her hop out. He could envision the small curve of her back, her pale pink cotton tank top stretching against her tan skin. He suddenly felt more ill than before, so he forced himself to look at the building she called home instead.

This wasn't her house, he was sure of it.

Her real one was probably farther down the road and she just couldn't take talking to him anymore, but he politely allowed her to assume he believed her little lie. It was unfortunate that Macy didn't know Joe had become on true expert on lying, and that he could easily decipher one in the blink of an eye.

And so he drove off when she waved weakly at him, and he continued to drive and drive until the pounding in his heart reduced to a steady pulse.

Then he found an empty parking lot, pulling his dad's car into a stall, and pressed his face against the steering wheel momentarily.

He brought the palm of his hand to his forehead eventually, wiping the formed perspiration away and he inhaled in blurry confusion.

Joe was all the things Nick described to Macy.

He was twenty, in college, a lot less funnier than what Nick remembered, and he watched his very own brother die. And, _god_, there was so much blood, and pain, and memories so vague and far away, he couldn't remember them in a clear, fresh fashion anymore.

Stella was probably in love with him, like she drunkenly told him so many times, and he probably should love her like that back. Because he was so lucky that she was so beautiful and sweet and just _downright perfect_.

And he had stopped believing in God the minute the heart monitor strapped to Kevin had. Just because it was a lot easier blaming something that couldn't fight back in defense than blaming something that could; that could quickly turn the fault on him for not protecting his brother like he should have, like he promised he'd always do.

Still, Joe was doing just fine, despite all the terrible ordeals that had happened to him.

He only wanted someone to defy him, tell him that he didn't have to be fine or strong or that the person he had become wasn't the person he was supposed to be.

Macy Misa might be that someone.

* * *

**Definitely not my favorite chapter, but an update from me has been quite overdue. This has got to be my favorite story I've written to date so I'm definitely not giving up on this, my time has just been stretched even more now that I've fiiiiinally gotten back into the dating world which, apparently, isn't synonymous to drunkenly hooking up with a cute guy. Go figure. Anyway, not the point! I just wanted to say thank you to those who reviewed last chapter and an advanced thanks and appreciation to those who will (hopefully) review this chapter! :)**


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